


Did You Mean It?

by Arianna



Category: Almost Human
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 06:29:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3559580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arianna/pseuds/Arianna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Epilogue to Straw Man</p><p>Dorian needs to know what John said to the Review Panel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Did You Mean It?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tracker Chip, a gift to celebrate Almost Human and our second virtual Con.

Dorian heard the scuff of John’s boots on the pavement as his partner stopped and quickly turned back to the food stand. Glancing over his shoulder, automatically scanning the area to determine if there was a problem, Dorian caught the delighted grin on John’s face as he swiveled around with the wrapped leg gripped firmly in hand. The light in John’s face and eyes, in sharp contrast to the scrapes and bruises that attested to a rough day, warmed Dorian from the inside out; he couldn’t help the small smile of pleasure that lit his own face.

John gave him a slight nod as he strode past, leading the way to where he’d left his vehicle. The leg went safely into the trunk and then they were speeding off to stop a robbery. Glancing out the window at the spitting rain, enjoying the bleeding glare of colors reflected on the wet pavement, Dorian damped down the bubble-like pressure of happiness he felt in his chest, the lump of tightness that tangled the vibrations of his speech center. There was work to do where those emotions had no part to play – but he couldn’t help it. He loved being a cop and he’d just been approved for another term. Loved everything about being where and when and what he was –

Except that it could be taken away from him with little warning, and with no recourse but to comply with whatever the humans in charge decided to do with him. Helplessness crowded his thoughts, made him feel tight and trapped –

Not wanting to worry about what he couldn’t control, he resolutely deleted those thoughts and emotions. Instead, he tried to focus again on all that was good in his world. His job; his term being renewed to continue to serve as John’s partner; John’s evident delight with his new leg…. But, as they sped through the night, siren blaring, he recalled how swiftly John had denied what the Director, Android Administration had told him. Why would John deny his words? Was he embarrassed by them, or by Dorian’s gratitude?

‘Or did I misunderstand?’ Dorian wondered with a flash of confusion. He started to replay the discussion with the Director but the sudden silencing of the siren, and John’s abrupt change of speed, brought him back to the present moment. They were on the scene, John coasting closer, endeavoring not to alert the thieves to their presence. Even as John switched off the ignition, Dorian was reading the heat signatures of the possible thieves inside. “There are two of them, each moving fast; looks like they’re grabbing up whatever they touch on either side of the store.”

John grunted an acknowledgment, then gestured to the glove compartment. “Use the flashcans to disable them,” he directed, “You take the back.”

Dorian gave a tight nod even as he shoved two of the small, deceptively innocuous canisters into the pocket of his jacket. Then, they were rolling out of the vehicle, each of them drawing their weapons. John ran in a crouching stance to the front of the store, staying clear of the large display windows. He took a quick peek through the glass and nodded to Dorian: there were thieves inside.

Dorian returned the nod and pounded swiftly through the shallow puddles in the narrow dark alley to the back lane. Pausing at the end of the alley, he did a quick scan to be sure there were no other perpetrators nearby, perhaps waiting with a getaway vehicle. Sensing nothing unexpected or suspicious in the darkness, Dorian again tracked the heat signatures inside the store, verifying there were still only two inside, each apparently fully occupied moving from front to back. Dorian pulled one of the canisters from his pocket with his free hand; it was doubtful that there’d be any need for the second. The store was small and the confined blast should be sufficient to blind and deafen them temporarily. He kicked in the locked and bolted steel-reinforced back door shouting, “Police! Drop your weapons!” Moving smoothly through the small back office and work room, he took a swift look into the shop to verify they were in the midst of a crime.

Bullets pinged the door jamb by his head, making it abundantly clear that these were, indeed, thieves. He ducked back into the refuge of the office; using his teeth, he pulled the tab on the flashcan and tossed it into the shop. Turning away from the doorway, Dorian closed his eyes momentarily, so as not to be blinded when the canister exploded, and he dampened his sound receptors in anticipation of the explosion. A percussive, deafening blast accompanied a violent burst of brilliant phosphorus that he could sense through his closed eyes. The thieves cried out in surprised protest and pain but continued to fire blindly in his general direction. His own vision clear, Dorian easily evaded the attack as he ducked through the door and to one side, out of their line of fire, and moved further into the store to disarm the culprits.

The front door crashed open. John dove low through the opening, tackling the nearest burglar to the floor. The thief, big and burly, twisted in John’s grasp, bringing his weapon into line to shoot Kennex in the head. Swiftly moving to form a shield between the other thief and John, Dorian shot the would-be cop-killer before he had time to pull the trigger. The percussive thump of his weapon’s fire, though, served as a target. Dorian felt the punch of two quick shots to his chest as he moved to disarm the man whose reddened eyes were still streaming from the flashcan blast.

John checked the man who had collapsed beneath him and, glancing at Dorian, shook his head. Unsurprised, Dorian gave a grim nod of acknowledgment. When he could, he tried to take perpetrators alive but no one threatened his partner without immediate reprisal; either he formed an impassable shield or he took the threat out. Though something inside his circuits burned with icy heat at having killed another human, he ignored it as he always had with the rationale that this was what he’d been created to do. Protect civilians. Protect his partner. Whatever the cost.

“You okay?” John asked with a meaningful scowl at the burn-circled holes punched in Dorian’s shirt. “They were point blank.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dorian assured him before returning his attention to the thief he was cuffing, touched as he always was by John’s concern. Some months before, he’d overheard John’s comments about ‘bots not being cops, and savagely disparaging androids as being ‘bullet-catchers’, not worthy of any more concern than malfunctioning toasters. But only hours later that same day, John had seemed genuinely worried about him after he’d taken the guided bullet targeted at Kira, the witness they’d been interviewing. John might call him a refrigerator or toaster from time to time, but it was a joke; not one Dorian found particularly amusing but he understood John meant no insult.  He was more conflicted about Kennex’ views of the MXs. Their lifeless eyes and routine reminders that he was out-dated, outmoded, not as good as they were, that went on and on when humans weren’t around to hear, irritated and alienated him. Nevertheless, he felt they deserved more respect than most humans gave them. Kennex didn’t hesitate to kill them if they annoyed him, something that Captain Maldonado was clearly not happy about. Others either ignored them or, like Detective Paul, occasionally called them ugly names and ordered them about like personal slaves. Dorian didn’t like to see bots insulted and abused, not when they spent their whole existence doing the best they could to serve and support and protect the humans around them. At least the Captain treated them all with formal courtesy and Detective Valerie Stahl actually seemed to enjoy working with her MX. But then, she was uniquely empathetic and kind.

Dorian filed his thoughts and finished cuffing the thief while John was moving through the doorway to the street, badge in hand, to wave in the uniformed patrol that had just arrived, blue and red lights strobing through the slanting rain and darkness, siren blaring. Dorian inhaled deeply, a trick he’d learned to pace himself, to ‘stand down’ once the threat was neutralized and it was all over but the cleanup. Then he guided the still half-blinded thief toward one of the uniforms who took him in hand. Feeling the slight tingle of what John called ‘disco face’ under his skin, Dorian sent an electronic request for a coroner and accessed city records to identify the owner of the jewellery store. He placed a call to the woman while John brought the uniforms up to speed. When he had connected with her, he told her, “This is the Police. I’m sorry to inform you that thieves attempted to rob your establishment on Connor Avenue. They have been apprehended but we need you to come to the store to assess the damage. Do you need a patrol car to pick you up?”

**

And so it went, well-worn routines of gathering evidence from the crime scene, obtaining statements from the owner and the remaining thief, a middle-aged Caucasian with a long history of jail time for grand theft, completing and submitting reports, including his visual records of the takedown. By the time they finished after what had already been a very long day, John didn’t even challenge Dorian’s suggestion that he drive John home and retrieve him in the morning. He was asleep, snoring softly, before they pulled out of the parking lot. Some minutes later, Dorian pulled up in front of John’s domicile and turned to his dozing partner. His fond expression morphed into a frown mingling concern and sorrow for the abuse John had taken in the fight with the cyborg, Glen Dunbar, more than six hours earlier. The bruises had darkened markedly, and the right side of John’s face around a nasty cut looked sore and swollen. Sometime during the long night, the cut over his eye had reopened and there was a slight trickle of dried blood on his brow.

Dorian gnawed his lip. He felt so impotent to make it all safe for Kennex. He knew that such an objective was impossible given the dangers they confronted on a daily basis. But, sometimes – often – the frailty of humans, and of his partner in particular, terrified him. As he always did after an operation in which John’s safety was compromised, Dorian knew he would spend time reviewing what had transpired to learn from it, to try to avoid allowing similar occurrences in the future. He existed to be a cop, to protect and serve. First and foremost, though, he existed to protect his human partner: not just because his own existence depended on being partnered with the human detective, but because it would always be what he chose to do out of fondness for Kennex. Finally, with a light touch on his friend’s arm, he called softly, “John, hey, man, you’re home.”

John started and blinked, rubbed a weary hand over his face before he looked around, momentarily confused until the familiar location registered and he nodded. “Uh, yeah, great,” he muttered as he fumbled for the lever to open the door. “Pop the trunk, D. Don’t wanna forget my gift,” he said with an almost shy smile before he stepped out of the vehicle and straightened his stiff spine with a muted moan.

Shaking his head at how much Kennex was obviously hurting but pleased that John had remembered despite being dead on his feet, Dorian watched him pace to the rear. He waited patiently until John slammed the trunk closed and tapped on the roof. “Pick me up at seven-thirty,” John called, but Dorian opened the window and leaned over to look out at him. “No, not until ten. I reported to the duty officer and got clearance for a late start.” John smiled widely, as if that was just about the best thing he’d heard all day and held up the thumb of his free hand in approbation. Then, with a wave, he turned to stride up the sidewalk to the entryway, the wrapped leg propped against his shoulder like an old-fashioned musket.

Watching his partner as the window silently slid closed, Dorian’s expression clouded. He told himself that it didn’t matter, shouldn’t matter so much, that he was no longer sure of what John had said to the interviewers. But his partner’s teasing the previous day about what he ‘should have said’ about Dorian exposing himself, having no boundaries, and stealing another DRN had initially unsettled Dorian, even frightened him. For just those moments, he’d been appalled, sick, to think he’d misunderstood to such a degree, and that John could resent him so much. But then he’d realized it was all a ‘joke’ and he’d set it aside, took it as another example of John’s particular brand of humor. He’d thought John had understood how much those hearings had meant to him. Now he wondered. Maybe John truly didn’t recognize how terrified Dorian had been that he wouldn’t pass muster.

That they’d decide to turn him off, kill him, dismember him and sell him for parts.

Or maybe even worse, send him up into the infinite silence of space, alone and more lonely than he could bear to imagine.

No, it shouldn’t matter. He knew, didn’t he, that he and John were friends? Or, at least, he considered John his friend and he thought John was coming to see him in a similar way, if not ever the same as Pelham. He trusted John, didn’t he?

Putting the car into gear, Dorian again told himself it shouldn’t matter that he didn’t know exactly what John had said. Shouldn’t matter at all – but it did. What had John said that the Director of Android Administration had felt compelled to acknowledge as significant? He had to know. Steering the car away from the curb, Dorian drove through the dark and empty city streets toward the lot outside the old cathedral that now housed Rudy’s laboratory.

**

Dorian knew he was on a low change and should head straight to his charging unit but his curiosity, his need to know, had to be satisfied. He moved silently through the low light of the quiet lab, unsurprised to find Rudy was still up, fiddling with pieces of an MX’s arm and hand. Dorian couldn’t help smiling with fond appreciation at the fierce attention Rudy brought to everything he did. He might not much care for the MXs (Rudy often commented about their beady eyes and inability to carry on a courteous conversation) but he took his responsibilities toward fixing them and maintaining them seriously. Quietly observing Rudy work, he thought, as he often had, that the scientist seemed far more comfortable with machines than he ever was with his fellow human beings. Dorian wondered if it was because Rudy had control over them or if he simply knew that they’d never deliberately hurt him. “You’re still up,” he said into the silence, making Rudy jump a foot into the air. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Rudy put a hand to his heart as he caught his breath, nodding awkwardly in an effort to convey understanding before he could stutter the words, “I know, I know. I just didn’t hear you come in.” Turning to face Dorian, he asked with eager attention, “How did Detective Kennex like his new leg?”

Dorian moved closer to lean against a nearby counter. A smile lit his face as he replied, “Oh, Rudy, he loved it. He really loved it.” Dorian’s throat tightened and his eyes burned with the freshness of his memory of how touched John had been; the happy grin on his face as he carried it to the car. “Thank you for making it possible for me to give it to him. I know it must have cost a lot and I want to repay you somehow. Anything you need me to do, you just ask. You know that, right?”

Rudy waved dismissively. “Oh, I ordered it as necessary inventory, because it is really, and I got it early by promising to send performance data on the new features in return for a pre-market release. All you need to do is monitor it and let me know how it’s working, if there are glitches and how John likes it. It’s not a big deal, I assure you; I’m just very glad I could help.”

“Monitoring is no problem,” Dorian replied, pleased to know he could help ‘pay’ for the leg in his own way. “I’d do that anyway.” Then, thinking about John and the reason for the ‘gift’, Dorian looked away, and wondered if he could trust Rudy enough to ask his help in accessing the interview recordings.

“You’re tired,” Rudy observed. “And it looks like you’re going to need another new chest plate soon. I’ll rummage around in inventory to see what I can find. I wish you weren’t always so ready to be a sort of living shield – DRN inventory isn’t inexhaustible, as you well know.”

Dorian sighed at the truth of Rudy’s words, but then gave his friend a slow smile. “Yes, I do know. I’ll try to be more careful.”

Rudy snorted and rolled his eyes. “As if that’s a likely possibility,” he countered, his tone arch and disapproving but Dorian detected an undertone of approval. “You’re getting to be as much of a cowboy as your partner.”

Dorian just shook his head before he again looked down and away. He didn’t want to go behind Rudy’s back or forge Rudy’s access code to the confidential recordings. “Rudy …” he began, then paused to lift his gaze, regarding Rudy with as much sincerity as he could muster. “Rudy, if I was human, would I be allowed to see the testimony to the panel, about my fitness for duty?”

Taken aback, Rudy gaped at him. “I … well … I suppose so, yes; human officers have the right to know how they’ve been evaluated and why. In fact, they have to sign off as having reviewed the evaluations. Signing off doesn’t mean they agree, you understand. Just that they’ve seen the record.”

“I’d like to see the record,” Dorian said with quiet formality. “Will you open the file for me?”

Rudy’s gaze dropped away, his brow bunched in worry. “It’s … an unusual request,” he hedged.

“I know,” Dorian replied. “But is there anything in the regulations that specifically prohibits me seeing the commentary of my colleagues and superior about my performance?”

Rudy pondered the question, then slowly shook his head. “Strangely enough, no, there isn’t, though they certainly wouldn’t normally accord human rights to bots.”

Dorian stiffened, too tired to hide his persistent resentment at being perceived as nothing more than ‘property’, like a table or chair, rather than as a person, one that was non-human but still self-aware and self-regulating at a high functional level.

Pretending not to notice – or perhaps genuinely oblivious, Dorian wasn’t always sure – Rudy fiddled with bits of metal and silicone on his work table, then mused, “I guess nobody ever thought an android would ask to see the record.” He glanced up at Dorian. “Stupid, really, if they didn’t want you to see it – and they might not, given the history of DRNs and worries about stability – not that that applies to you, of course; you were never unstable. They forget how human you are, curious, wanting to be the best you can be. Different from the MXs. They’d never think to make such a request.” “So, will you help me?” Rudy again hesitated, but when he looked directly at Dorian, perhaps really seeing how very much access meant to his friend, he nodded firmly. “Sure, why not? As far as I’m concerned, you have the right to know what we all said about you. What you do with that information is up to you. But, uh, you realize that if anyone said something you don’t like and you raise that with them, well, then a new regulation just might get written, right?”

“I know. I’ll be discreet,” Dorian promised, straightening to attention, eager to get on with it. But Rudy’s words also provoked a sinking sense of dismay. “You think people said things that I won’t like to hear?” Surely, the Board of Review wouldn’t have approved his continuation if there’d been much negative said about him.

“Uh, well, just don’t misinterpret what I said about –”

“I won’t, Rudy, I promise,” Dorian interjected, lifting a hand in emphasis, mimicking the human gesture of making a vow. “I know beyond any doubt that you’d do your best to help.” With a rueful smile, he added, “I can’t say as much about Detective Paul, for example.”

Rudy’s smile in return was reassuring. “It’s best to be prepared for anything. But, honestly, I can’t imagine anyone having anything negative to say about you. Everything I hear indicates you are well liked.”

“Thank you, Rudy,” Dorian replied with heartfelt sincerity. He wanted to be liked – needed to be liked, and trusted, by his colleagues. It was an integral part of his survival strategy; more than that, he supposed. It was the way he was, at least what he wanted to be: congenial, trustworthy, and competent at his job.

Rudy looked at him, seemed to be wondering why he was still standing there. “Oh, you mean you want to see the files now. But, uh, you’re overdue for a charge.”

“I don’t know when I’ll next have a chance,” Dorian explained. “I have time to view the file now and still get enough charge before I have to pick John up in the morning.”

“Well, then, let’s get started, shall we?” Rudy replied briskly, moving to his computer to bring up the file. “I’ll send it to the monitor in your room.”

Dorian tilted his head for a moment, considering the implications of Rudy sending the information to a monitor rather than to him directly but decided not to pursue the issue. The act of viewing the information would result in a full record being created in his files. He’d just have to take care to file it securely so it didn’t inadvertently get automatically downloaded with the rest of his official reports. Eager to view the file, he turned and headed to the small storage room Rudy had given him as his own space. On the way, he created a subfile under the directory where he stored all the information he had about John that he kept confidential to protect his partner’s privacy.

**

Dorian shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a hook just inside the doorway before settling onto the chair at the small worktable Rudy had set up for him and palming on the monitor. Immediately, the file flashed onto his screen and he touched it to open the five subfiles named for each of the interviewees. For a moment he just stared at the screen, steeling himself for whatever he might see and hear. Then he started with what he assumed would be the most negative: Detective Richard Paul.

After flicking through the first minutes of routine introductions and explanations of the panel’s purpose, Dorian settled back to watch the interview unfold.

“We’re interested in hearing about your experiences with, and personal assessment of, DRN-0167.”

When Richard rubbed his jaw, Dorian stiffened, certain the detective was about to tell the panel about being punched by an unreliable, out of control machine on low charge. But Richard’s hand dropped back to the table. “I’ve worked with Dorian on a number of cases,” Richard began, “and so far as I’ve seen, he’s doing his job.”

Dorian blinked in surprise.

“How would you compare its performance with the MXs.”

Paul grinned. “There’s not much to compare. The MXs are okay; they do their job as mechanized enforcers of law and order and they’re loyal, no question; I like working with them well enough. But their investigative abilities are limited: they’re too literal and linear in their thinking. Dorian can do the logic bit as well as they can but he … well, he’s more human in how he assesses facts and situations. He can think out of the box and make intuitive leaps. He can also react quickly to changes in circumstances despite pressures of time and urgency.”

“Can you give us an example?”

“Sure,” Richard allowed. “We were in a tight situation and his partner, Kennex, had a bomb strapped to his neck.” The interviewers gaped at the scene being set. “We couldn’t get close to either Kennex or the perp, who was observing everything from up on a clock tower and was holding a deadman switch so we couldn’t just take him out. We only had minutes, you understand, before the bomb blew Kennex’ head off.” He paused, perhaps caught in the memory of those moments. “I gotta say, it looked hopeless to me. But Dorian said he could climb the back of the building, come up on the perp from behind and disarm him with an electric charge.” Leaning forward, he pointed at the panel members. “You have to understand, Dorian only had about eight minutes to do this, and he was running on a very low charge; it was during the disruption of the last solar flare when we didn’t have enough power to fully charge the androids.”

While the interviewers nodded in understanding and took notes, Paul again rubbed his jaw before continuing. “Yeah, he was definitely on a short charge. I wasn’t sure he’d have enough juice to get the job done but he said he could. And he did. He even managed to bind the killer’s hands before he collapsed, completely out of power.” Richard shook his head, as if he could still hardly believe the achievement. “He saved his partner’s life, no question. Showed amazing focus and precision of fine motor skills despite the tension and losing power fast. An MX couldn’t have done that; wouldn’t’ve come up with the strategy in the first place. Too subtle.”

“So in your view, DRN-0167 should be retained on active service?”

Richard Paul sat back. “Sure, why not? He’s probably the only one who can work with Kennex anyway. And I’ll tell you this: in my view, Dorian’s a better cop than his partner.” Once again he leaned forward, elbows on the table. His brow bunched in a slight frown and his lips compressed while he again thoughtfully massaged his jaw, as if he was debating whether to say more. Dorian tensed, certain the debacle in the office because of his low charge was about to come to light. Why else would Richard continue to rub his jaw; he was clearly thinking about how Dorian had slugged him without warning. Finally, Richard looked each of the interviewers in the eye as he said, “Frankly, I didn’t think it would work. Like everyone else, I took one look at the DRN and thought: one of the crazy ones; wonder how long it’ll be before he cracks up. But I’ve been impressed with what I’ve seen Dorian do and how he handles himself. I’m beginning to think we should figure out how to fix whatever went wrong with some of the DRNs years ago and bring them all back into service. He’s a good cop. He gets the job done and he does it well.”

Dorian sat back in stunned surprise, barely registering the closing remarks of the panel as they terminated the interview. “Wow,” he gusted, shaking his head in bemusement. Then the words, the solid endorsement, sank in and he almost trembled with unexpected emotion. Sniffing, he swiped at suddenly damp eyes. “I never expected….” He blew a long breath, his now common, nearly unconscious subroutine to establish balance and order in his mind and emotions.

“Thank you, Detective Paul,” he murmured, desperately wishing that he could tell the detective how much he truly appreciated the words, especially Paul’s recommendation that they bring the other DRNs back. To be able to save them all? He’d never dreamed, would never have dared hope, his performance would occasion such a consideration by anyone. Not that the authorities would listen; that ship had sailed long ago. But that Paul would even suggest it was little short of astounding.

The replay stopped and Dorian closed the file and then opened Detective Valerie Stahl’s interview. Once again he skipped through the introductions.

“We’re interested in knowing your views on whether DRN-0167 should continue as Detective Kennex’ partner.”

Valerie gave them her trademark smile and direct eye contact that conveyed warmth, sincerity and openness: he used the same strategies himself to put people at ease and win their confidence. “Of course Dorian should continue as Detective Kennex’ partner.” She dipped her eyes, tilted her head slightly as she leaned in, conveying a degree of hesitation, confidentiality and intimacy. “As I’m sure you know, John – Detective Kennex – has only recently returned from extended sick leave, after recovering from massive injuries. He … well, he doesn’t trust MXs and we all understand why. An MX abandoned him and his partner in the midst of a fire fight to save others with a better chance of survival – all very logical but not something that inspires trust. Dorian is more human in his interactions, more comfortable to be around. He … he has a well-defined sense of humor and is able to have fun with Detective Kennex, make him laugh, keep him on his toes. Being partnered with Dorian helps Detective Kennex to do his best work.”

“I see,” one of the interviewers murmured, making a note. “This sense of humor? Do you think DRN-0167 is appropriately serious and focused on his work? Or is it a game to him?”

“Oh, no, please don’t misunderstand!” Valerie exclaimed. “Dorian is an excellent detective. He’s smart and intuitive, and he displays a comprehensive understanding of human behavior and motivation. I’m just saying that he’s more than … well, he’s not just a machine that operates on logic and programmed routines. Dorian learns. He exercises independent judgment and action.”

“Independent action?” the male interviewer echoed with a frown. “You mean he’s out of control?”

Valerie’s face clouded in sudden irritation; her posture straightened and stiffened. “No, I don’t mean that, not at all. I sincerely hope this isn’t a witch hunt seeking some flimsy rationale for turning Dorian off. For the record, Dorian exercises superb judgment, acts appropriately in any given circumstance, and always does his best to protect and serve the people of this community.”

The matronly interviewer raised a hand, patted the air in a calming gesture. “Please, Detective Stahl, we don’t have any hidden motives. We just want to be assured that DRN-0167 is performing adequately, that there have been none of the problems that characterized his model in the past.”

Valerie’s expression remained cool. “His name is Dorian, not DRN-0167. Dorian is a fine officer and I look forward to working with him for many years to come. If you wish, I’ll prepare a written statement to that effect.”

“I assure you that won’t be necessary,” the interviewer replied. “Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

Valerie visibly forced herself to relax, her shoulders and posture loosened as she took the time to think about her answer. Finally, she nodded. “Yes, there is something else I’d like to say. I think Dorian is exceptionally courageous. Not in the usual way of being what some of the others call a ‘bullet-catcher’, though he does that, too, without hesitation, to protect and safeguard innocent people and his fellow officers. I mean that even though I’m sure he’s very aware that he serves on a kind of sufferance and could be turned off at any time, he doesn’t let that get in the way of how he interacts with the world. He doesn’t curry favor with us. He states the truth as he sees it; makes suggestions that might not be popular but might well be worth considering, like the idea he had that Doctor Nigel Vaughn may have gone over the Wall. We’ve sure not found any trace of him on this side. Dorian is a good, decent, self-aware being; I could wish more humans were like him.”

Dorian felt a rush of gratitude suffuse his being. He knew Rudy was aware of how afraid he was that all this could end, that he could lose everything, and have no recourse but to allow his termination. But he’d not thought any other human, except maybe John, would ever even think about how he might feel. He shouldn’t be so surprised, though, that Valerie Stahl knew; he was sure that she was some sort of empath. She wasn’t a psychic or medium like Maya Vaughn but she clearly felt the emotions of others keenly and was moved by them. Something in the chromosomal manipulation of her genetic formula had given her a rare and unique – and Dorian suspected, often painful – gift.

Next, with a small smile of anticipation, he opened Rudy’s file, curious to see just exactly what his friend had said about having his child. As he skipped through the introductory sequence, he grinned with fond indulgence as he thought about Rudy’s sometimes painful earnestness. His friend tried so hard to communicate well and yet so often seemed to get mired in odd details or conversational mazes that went nowhere. Like that whole thing about peanut butter and jam not being just a food but a sandwich.

“Do you think he needs to be given a Luger Test?”

“Another Luger Test? No, no!” Rudy protested, his posture suddenly rigid, a slight flush on his cheeks.

Dorian frowned. Not that he didn’t appreciate it but Rudy’s protest seemed too strenuous. It would be annoying and demeaning to have to take the test again, but there was no danger in it. The moment passed, so quickly Dorian wondered if he’d been mistaken. He was soon caught by what Rudy said next. Warmth filled him as he listened to his friend’s sincere affirmation that he would do a better job raising any child Rudy might have than Rudy would do himself. What an amazing, generous thing to say. Dorian shook his head. John was his partner but he suspected that Rudy might always be a better friend, someone who accepted and valued Dorian for himself and not just for what he could do.

But then, remembering what had immediately preceded this rambling, slightly bizarre affirmation of his superior parenting skills, Dorian stopped the replay and took it back to the question about whether he needed to be given the Luger Test. Narrowing his eyes, he focused on small details like Rudy’s pupils, the flush of his skin tone. Tilting his head unconsciously, he listened closely to pick up subtle cues in tone and pitch. Unfortunately, the camera wasn’t perceptive enough to record physiological indicators of stress or lies, indicators that Dorian could perceive like heartbeats and blood pressure, or rises in adrenaline that affected a person’s scent and respirations. Nevertheless, Dorian knew he’d caught something. It was at that point in the interview that Rudy started talking about how he’d like Dorian to raise his child, and he got increasingly flustered, almost babbling. Rudy could be awkward in social interaction but this was over the top, even for him, almost as if … as if it was deliberate and Rudy was intentionally misdirecting them, distracting them. And yet, Dorian could tell Rudy was also being absolutely sincere in what he was saying. There was something – he accessed his memories in the Rudy subdirectory and scanned through them quickly. There was something Rudy had said once, about what Richard had told him about lying when he was undercover. Found it: “Detective Paul told me the truth would be my friend. When I was lying, I should tell as much truth as possible at the same time – you understand, yeah? So that’s what I did when The Bishop asked me how the formula I cooked up was so much better than anyone else was able to achieve. I told him it was about passion, that I –”

Dorian closed the memory file with a grim sense of certainty. Rudy really didn’t want him being tested. But why? Sadly, Dorian sat back and battled the sinking sensation of anxious uncertainty and incipient fear of betrayal. He’d thought he could trust Rudy, even after he’d awoken to find Rudy tinkering with his brain. But … but Rudy was hiding something, evidently something important, and Dorian didn’t have any idea of what that might be. Was this why Rudy had been hesitant to just hand over the files when he’d first asked? Dorian almost called out, demanding to be told then and there – but he restrained himself. Rudy would probably just deny there was anything there at all beyond what he’d said.

“Dammit,” he muttered to himself. “What the hell is he hiding from me and why?” And how will I find out, he wondered silently. A direct approach might work but if Rudy had wanted to tell him, he would have. Sternly, Dorian told himself that Rudy would never do anything against him, to hurt him. At least, not intentionally. But, he’d thought Rudy was comfortable enough with him to be open with him, to not hide secrets from him. In Dorian’s experience, Rudy had difficulty keeping secrets and tended to inadvertently blurt things out at inopportune times, so whatever this secret was, it was something important, something Rudy was consciously hiding.

With little other option, he tabled the issue for the time being. Clearly, the panel had not sensed anything amiss because they’d moved on and terminated the interview not long after. But Dorian resolved to be alert, to find a way to learn what Rudy was keeping from him and, evidently, others as well.

With a sigh, he closed the file and opened the one containing the interview with Captain Maldonado. As he watched, Dorian was surprised at how brief and even brusque Sandra was with her responses. Though it was gratifying to hear her commend his work as ‘exceptional’, the ‘it seemed appropriate’ response to why she’d been adamant about saving him from the space station, and “I thought Dorian and Detective Kennex needed each other, and that’s as much as I can say,” implied there was a lot more to it. Perplexed, Dorian frowned at the screen. He’d thought he’d find answers by viewing the vids but instead he seemed to be finding more questions. Telling himself not to be paranoid, he reflected that Sandra was probably just protecting John’s privacy. Clearly, she would not want to share his PTSD or other health details; it was none of the panel’s business. But … why had she picked him and not another DRN to work with John? Because it seemed the choice had been deliberate, something he’d not, until then, been aware of. Was it something to do with his past? With memories that had been erased when he’d first been decommissioned? Or was it something more intrinsic, something about how he functioned? Was her reticence linked to whatever Rudy wanted to keep hidden or to something else entirely?

Dorian battled the irritation that rose within, the frustration of being treated like a thing that had no right to his past or – “Stop it,” he commanded himself. Anger wouldn’t help; would only cloud his reasoning and judgment. Clearly, these interview files wouldn’t reveal the answers. He’d have to give it all a lot of thought, develop a strategy for finding out what he wanted to know. And that was going to take time. Certainly wasn’t going to happen that night.

So he tabled his questions and, with undeniable trepidation, closed Sandra’s completed interview record and opened the last file. John’s interview began normally enough with John listing his skills in an objective, not quite disinterested manner: good shot, good in interrogation. But Dorian grew concerned as the interview progressed. John’s answers became more and more succinct, his expression remaining closed, revealing no personal interest in the proceedings. Finally, as if grasping for something interesting to say but, if anything, even more detached in his tone and posture, John reported in a flat tone, ‘He flipped a van once; pretty cool. Didn’t know he could do that.” At that moment, John’s behavior became even more disinterested. He continued to lean back in his chair as if totally relaxed and unconcerned, but he swiveled the seat so that he was sitting sideways to the table. Disengaging from the interview. As if it was a waste of his time and he just wanted it over.

Dorian could feel both horrified disbelief and outrage flare in his chest: was this real? Was John truly that unconcerned about the interview – about what happened to him as the ultimate outcome of the interviews? Didn’t John get that they might shut him down?

He was about to close the file, certain he didn’t want to see or hear anymore, when the dark-skinned woman leaned in and echoed, a hard edge to her voice, “He flipped a van? When? Why? What happened to the occupants? Are you saying that DRN-0167 is unpredictable and potentially very dangerous? Are you saying he should be decommissioned?”

At the aggression in her tone and words, John’s demeanor changed abruptly. He swung back around and leaned over the table, glaring at the woman. “Wait just a minute here,” he growled. “Are you actually considering turning him off? Is that what this is all about?” He looked from one to the other, as if he couldn’t believe how stupid they could be. “This isn’t just one of the usual bureaucratic waste of time processes to check off all the boxes so we can all move on for another year? Decommission him? You can’t be serious.”

The officious male panel member sniffed. “I can assure you we’re not in the habit of wasting our time. The DRN line was decommissioned for good reason and we’re not at all sure it was wise to reactivate DRN-0167.” His tone grew even more supercilious as he added, “From what you’re saying, and your very evident lack of enthusiasm for your partner or his performance capabilities, our concern appears to be well justified.”

“Are you out of –” John began, but then slammed his mouth shut, as if suddenly realizing he’d misjudged the situation badly and antagonizing the panel members wouldn’t be helpful. He took a deep breath as if to compose himself. Seeming calmer, but still poised as if he was going to come out of his chair at them at any moment, he said low and slow, “Now you listen to me, and you listen good. Nobody is going to turn him off. Dorian is the best cop I’ve ever had the privilege of working with and I trust him absolutely. The only thing he wants in this world is to be a cop, to help and protect people; to do what’s right.” With a sigh, he added, “He’s probably the only person I know who hasn’t got a self-serving bone in his body –”

The interviewer injected, “He’s not a human being.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John retorted impatiently, “I know he’s a machine, so call it no self-serving carbon fiber or silicon whatever, if that’s what you prefer. The point is … the point is, he might be a machine but he’s also the best man I know. Maybe it sounds crazy, but I know Dorian has a soul, or whatever you want to call it – something inside, ephemeral but decent and compassionate, dedicated to doing what’s right. It’s like he’s got a light inside that radiates …. I can’t explain it.” John shook his head, evidently frustrated with is inability to convey what he wanted to express. “He’s totally unique, his own person; he’s more human than machine. He knows what death means and he doesn’t want to die – which is what turning him off means. You’d be killing him.”

John seemed to realize his voice had risen until he was nearly shouting at the panel members. Sitting back, he lifted a hand, as if imploring them to listen, to understand. “But, but even as much as he doesn’t want to die, he wants to protect the innocent more. I’ve seen him exercise extraordinary courage, willfully go into situations that might well result in his annihilation, but he does it because it’s the right thing to do – not because he’s programmed to do it but because he chooses to do it.”

“Well, it’s certainly clear that you would prefer that he continue as your partner,” the dark skinned woman observed.

“Well, that’s good,” he said with a decisive nod. “Because Dorian’s performance has been exemplary and, truth be told, well, he makes me a better cop. Maybe even a better man.” He grimaced and went on with his more usual tone of impatient irritation. “And since I won’t work with an MX, Dorian’s the only reason I’m even still on the Force. Clearly, I can’t tell you what to do, but I will tell you this: if you turn him off, you’ll have my resignation immediately.”

The interviewers exchanged glances and the older woman said, “Well, I think that’s all we need from you, Detective. Thank you for your candor. We’ll certainly give serious consideration to the points you’ve made.”

John gave them a worried look, as if he didn’t want to leave it at that, but at last he pushed himself to his feet. Turning to the door, though, he paused and looked back at them. “Talk to him,” he urged. “You’ll see it if you do. I can’t explain it but … you’ll see it in him. You’ll see that he’s special.”

“Thank you, Detective. We’ll be interviewing DRN-0167 before we conclude our deliberations.”

“Dorian,” John corrected. “His name is Dorian.” With that, he turned to open the door and the replay stopped.

Dorian stared at the screen, his lips compressed, a lone tear slipping unheeded down his cheek. He could see why John had seemed confused by what Dorian had thought the Director of Android Administration had said. John hadn’t actually said Dorian was the reason he was still a cop, in the sense that he chose to serve because of Dorian.

No, he’d not said that.

He’d said a lot more.

John understood. Understood better than Dorian had expected, let alone hoped. And … and John cared about him, respected him more than he’d imagined could be possible. Dorian was suddenly very glad he wouldn’t be able to discuss the interview because he didn’t know what he’d say … didn’t think he could say anything without losing his emotional control and he knew John hated that. But he was overwhelmed by emotion, by all the things John had said; felt humbled and undeserving and knew he’d always do whatever he could to be worthy of John’s assessment of him.

Dorian didn’t have words adequate to express even to himself all that he was feeling. But he understood the emotion at the core of his being. He felt love, unconditional love for this ornery, sometimes irascible man, but he’d felt that for some time now. Had he been asked, he would have said pretty much the same things about courage and decency about John.

What left him speechless with gratitude, totally emotionally undone with stunned surprise, was the realization that John evidently felt the exactly same way about him.

Slowly, Dorian turned off the now blank screen. Really, really glad he’d found John the best leg he could, he was smiling as he stood and turned to step into the charging unit. And, though it hardly seemed possible, he was even happier now than after hearing his term had been renewed. As he felt the power sizzle through his system, Dorian’s last awareness before shutting down to maximize the recharging process was that he felt … peace.

For the first time since John had awakened him, he felt safe.

Finis


End file.
